The combination of Cillian’s skilled touch and Logan’s commanding voice pushes me over the edge. The orgasm crashes through me like a wave, intense and unexpected. I cry out against Cillian’s mouth, my body shaking with the force of my release.
Through the haze of pleasure, I feel Cillian’s body tense beneath mine, his own climax triggered by the sensation of mine through our bond. He breaks our kiss to gasp for air, his head thrown back as he pulses in Logan’s grip.
Logan follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he drives deep one final time. A low, guttural sound escapes him as he finds his release, his golden eyes never leaving my face as he comes.
For several heartbeats, none of us moves. We remain frozen in this tableau of spent passion, connected by touch and bond and something deeper that I’m not ready to name. Then Logan withdraws carefully from Cillian, collapsing onto the bed beside him with a satisfied exhale.
Cillian’s hand slips from between my thighs, leaving me feeling strangely bereft despite the lingering pleasure still coursing through my veins. I shift away slightly, suddenly aware of what just happened, of the line we’ve all crossed together.
“Don’t,” Cillian says softly, his hand finding mine where it rests on the mattress between us. “Don’t pull away. Not yet.”
I glance at him, then at Logan, who watches us both with those golden eyes that seem to see too much. I expect to feel regret, or shame, or at least uncertainty about what just happened. Instead, I feel... calm. Sated. Almost peaceful, in a way I haven’t experienced since before the doctor’s compound.
Since before Logan forced the bond.
The realization is unsettling. This shouldn’t feel right. This complicated entanglement between the three of us, this strange balance we’re creating—it shouldn’t make me feel safe. Shouldn’t make me feel almost... happy.
But it does.
Logan remains silent, his golden gaze moving between Cillian and me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. There’s satisfaction there, certainly—the smug contentment of an Alpha whose pack is finding harmony. But there’s something else too, something that might be wonder, or gratitude, or perhaps even a touch of humility.
CHAPTER 17
Maya
I’m up early the next morning, slipping out of bed while Logan and Cillian are still sleeping. I don’t like how tempting it is to linger with them.
The library—if it can even be called that—is little more than a dusty corner of the safehouse with a single bookshelf holding maybe two dozen volumes. Most are practical guides to wilderness survival or outdated maps, but tucked among them I find a collection of Melillan history texts. I pull one out, settling into the room’s only chair as dust motes dance in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
The Unification Wars and the Rise of House Corellian, the cover proclaims in faded gold lettering. I trace the embossed image of King Leopold I, younger than I’ve ever seen him depicted, standing triumphant on a battlefield. The romanticized illustration shows none of the brutality that must have accompanied his conquest of the independent city-states, none of the blood spilled to create the unified kingdom of Melilla.
I flip through the pages, scanning passages about strategic brilliance and diplomatic maneuvering. The sanitized version of history taught in schools and celebrated in national holidays. Nothing about the resistance he crushed, the dissenters silenced, the cultures subsumed into his vision of a single, unified nation.
“Looking for bedtime reading?”
I glance up to find Logan standing in the doorway, his golden eyes reflecting the sunlight in a way that makes them seem to glow from within. He looks tired, shadows beneath his eyes speaking of sleepless nights, but there’s an alertness to his posture that reminds me he’s never truly off guard.
“Just trying to understand what we’re up against,” I reply, holding up the book. “Or what we might be running from.”
Logan steps into the room, his gaze flicking to the volume in my hands. “My father’s greatest hits,” he says dryly. “I’m sure that particular edition leaves out the less flattering chapters.”
“Like the fact that he might have murdered his own mate?” The words slip out before I can stop them, Poe’s revelation still fresh in my mind.
Logan goes very still, his expression freezing in a way that makes my heart rate quicken. For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far, pushed a button I shouldn’t have touched. But then he sighs, the tension leaving his shoulders as he moves to lean against the bookshelf.
“So Poe told you about that,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I wondered if he would.”
I set the book aside, studying Logan’s face. “Is it true?”
He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze distant as if seeing something beyond the confines of this dusty room. “I don’t know,” he admits finally. “There were rumors, whispers among the court. My mother’s death was... convenient. For my father’s political ambitions, if nothing else.”
“She opposed him?” I ask, genuinely curious about this queen I’ve only ever heard described in terms of her beauty and her devotion to the king.
“Not openly,” Logan says, his expression thoughtful. “She was too smart for that. But she had her own network of supporters. She advocated for causes my father considered... distractions from his agenda.”
“Like what?”
“She wasn’t a saint, but she wanted to leave her mark on Melilla. Education reform. Healthcare access for the lower districts. Omega rights.” His mouth quirks in a humorless smile. “Dangerous ideas, according to the king.”
